


A Ritual of Confinement

by misreall



Series: Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that's not why we do it. [5]
Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, Demonic Sex, Demons, Did I mention edging, Dirty Talk, Edging, Every kind of Kissing, F/M, Horn kink, Idiots in Love, Incubus Loki, Kissing, Love, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Tender Sex, Wing Kink, Witchcraft, angelic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misreall/pseuds/misreall
Summary: When a magical battle goes wrong Nora is confined to her house - forced to endure bed-rest, no touching, and Loki.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that's not why we do it. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1179989
Comments: 116
Kudos: 122





	1. Home is Where Your Stuff Is

**Author's Note:**

> Queen Candy of Flaps declared to Caffiend and I that this is edging week. Your will be done, my liege.

“There is a winsome quality about a springtime afternoon such as this one, when there is a gentle, grey rain, and the limbs of the trees stretch and stir, all lightly covered in fresh leaves and pink blossoms, and the flowers are shyly showing themselves and their hopeful colours, and everything is newly green and wrapped in the fragrance of the sun caressing the wet, dark soil that makes one want a long, slow,  _ aching _ fuck.” 

Loki’s voice was resonant and thoughtful as he looked out of the window onto the muddy backyard, sipping tea while stroking Cat Claire’s back.

Then he turned partially to look at Nora, his head cocked, his green eyes that currently flickered with demonic red were gently cruel, “Alas…” 

Nora grabbed one of the pillows she was propped up on in bed, winging it at his head. He was easily able to avoid it with a motion so swift and graceful that it could not be seen by human eyes. However, the murderously sharp tip of one of his lofty, alabaster horns slit the linen open easily, sending feathers drifting down like heavy snow.

Cat Claire was delighted and spent the rest of the afternoon stalking and pouncing around the second floor of the bungalow.

Rolling his eyes, Loki picked sodden down out of his cup, “How childish.” 

“Go back to hell,” Nora said, rolling onto her side while pulling up the blankets to her chin. “I’m not childish. You’re the one who’s childish.”

He t’sked at her, blowing upwards out of the corner of his mouth to remove a feather that dangled from a lock of black hair that hung fetchingly over his left eye. “Now, now, I know you are cranky and irritable from having to stay in bed - alone,” the feather drifted over to the bed and landed on Nora’s nose. “Alone and frustrated.” He crossed the room and leaned over her, his hand bracketing her head so he could lean close and whisper with his hot breath stroking the whorls of her ear, while carefully not touching her.

“Soooo frustrated.” His hand traced lightly over the blanket, which she could practically feel straight through the quilt, the linens, and the old, ratty pajamas that she hadn’t worn since they had been together. Her already hot and sore skin was now electric with desire. 

The absolute bastard. 

Who went right on, ignoring her trying to ignore him. “Sopping. Already aching for that fuck. Or for me to lick all of those darling orgasms right out of your starving cunt. Or perhaps for my fingers to find their ways into all of your ho-”

“Enough!” Nora snarled, tossing the blankets off so he had to jump away. Getting out of bed she stalked towards him as he back-peddled as quickly as his long legs and their rather small bedroom allowed, hands held up. She was a little dizzy, but there was no way that was going to stop her. 

“Treasure,” he said, sounding a little nervous now, “don’t over do… Not  _ too  _ close!” 

Loki’s normal, sultry baritone went quickly tenor and shrill as his back hit the wall and Nora felt herself start to sway, her vision a little blurry, magic-infused sweat dripping from her, making those ratty pj’s change in turn into a wetsuit complete with snorkel, a pair of daisy dukes topped with an elegant, lavender cashmere sweater, a traditional Roman stola trimmed with pink leopard print velour, and finally a 70s era powder blue tuxedo with an origami rose as the boutonniere. 

Later, when she unfolded it, she found it had been folded out of a carryout menu from Russell’s BBQ in Elmwood Park, smelling just a bit of their famous, cinnamon-heavy sauce.

The surge and then sudden drop of power caused darkness to creep in the sides of her vision, and Nora now staggered back to drop on the dirty laundry covered bench at the end of their bed to keep from ending up in a heap. It was too hot, and her fingers fumbled with trying to find the buttons under the ruffles on the front of the tux shirt. 

Through the fog of weakness, she could barely focus but she could see Loki. The two sides of his nature were embattled. The angelic fretted and fussed, his own long fingers practically tying themselves in knots as he forced himself to not help her. The stress of not being able to care for her causing his wings to pop out and flutter madly, causing a small tsunami of feathers to sweep across the room, sticking to Nora’s sweaty skin.

The demonic was in full fury, his eyes now pure fire with no hint of green, the tips of his horns were burning blue. “It is bad enough that you were foolhardy enough to rush off into danger without concern for your fate! Now you get out of bed and fling yourself about the room at ME! Just because you are feeling horny and irritable! You know what could happen and you would leave me with such guilt. Unkind,” he hissed, “very unkind, my affianced…”

Greasy, half-naked, and flushed, all in a bad way, Nora was able to lift her head just enough to look at him, as she crawled slowly up the bed to collapse, “How can you hiss a sentence where there is only one sibilant in it? Amazing…”

With a little spitting sound of disgust, Loki left the room, “I will never forgive you for this. Never!” Adding, “Do you prefer tomato bisque with Croque monsieur or  _ tourin _ with extra croutons?”

“Surprise me,” she mumbled into her pillow, her drool causing it’s case to turn into crushed velvet, then purple linen, as she fell asleep.

That Loki was absolutely right didn’t make it any easier. 

Normally just the idea of his being right and Nora being wrong was an unending delight to him.

Well, he assumed it was, since it had never happened before now. And  _ now  _ was anything but a delight. It was an unmitigated nightmare.

He stirred the earthenware pot of garlic soup that sat on the kitchen counter in an agitated fashion as the steam from its lightly simmering surface enveloped him. The heat from his agitated body was enough to cook it, indeed it was so hot he had to be careful that it did not boil over. 

When Nora had become part of the inner clique of Baba Yaga’s coven she had entered a different, more complex world of magic and supernatural happenings. 

Her nature being as it was, rather than cautiously learning more about how things worked within it, slowly flexing her own new powers, discovering those major players who might be the enemies of Baba Yaga - there was a list to keep you up nights - and the philosophy that governed the coven, and so on, Nora had jumped in with both feet, taking on various missions for the great Hag like they came with free fistfuls of candy.

She had loved every second of it, of course. Many were the nights she would, say, teleport herself to Turin, an ancient grimoire open in one hand and a ham sandwich he had just finished making for her in the other, to banish a void creature that had accidentally been summoned in the old city by a tourist badly misreading the plaque on a monument in a tiny church. 

Then, before he could wonder if it were possible for a creature such as himself to have a transient ischemic attack, she would be back in the living room, sandwich half-eaten, tossing the grimoire onto the couch, laughing as she took off her jacket that had been ruined by eldritch slime, “Shit! It’s not a void creature, it’s an outer reaches abomination! Wrong fucking book!” 

Grabbing another book and waving it, she would be gone again, returning victorious and bruised, bearing a box of white truffles and some seriously cheap, tangy wine.

His irritation was never enough to stop her, and Loki refused to use either his superior strength or erotic wiles to keep her home, knowing either would work and both would ultimately unbalance the delicate equilibrium of their relationship and damage Nora’s pride, something he swore he would never do again. 

But this last time … this last time she had gone too far and they were both paying the price.

The South Atlantic Anomaly was the place where the Van Allen radiation belt came closest to earth, which effected both levels of radioactivity and magnetism. Even satellites were endangered by it. One poor, helpless Japanese x-ray observatory actually spun itself to pieces under its sinister influence.

All of which made going there dangerous enough, but then there were the arcane elementals who used it as both a gate and feeding ground both coming and going from earth to consider as well. Everything from the wraiths produced by the discorporation of certain, improperly disposed of supernatural entities to fucking dragons to demons from other dimensions to things were so alien that their aberrant natures rejected all possibility of something as mundane as a name, went there to feed, to fuck, to travel. 

Normally this wasn’t a problem. The place had been there, minding its own business far off of the coast of Brazil for eons. The magical practitioners of the Tupi and Guarani tribes would take turns monitoring it and sometimes slapping the noses of monsters that might wander onto shore looking for a carnivorous snack and that was that. 

Even the invasion of the Portuguese hadn’t changed much, although the indigenous magicians and witches had decided not to bother warning the sorcerers and alchemists that had come with the rest of colonizers. 

They’d figure it out eventually, and fuck them anyway, was the general sentiment. 

But for a while, the anomaly had been growing. Neither the scientific or magical communities were happy about it or certain what was causing the change. 

And the larger it got, the larger the … _ things  _ that could come through got. 

So when the call went out from the coven that there was a big motherfucking something coming through Nora jumped to answer. That Loki had been away making arrangements for their forthcoming wedding had been a coincidence certainly, yet one he was unwilling to forgive himself for. 

That she had not informed him that she was going to help fight a massive eldritch horror was far less forgivable than that. 

Even if the creature had the mystical equivalent of a glass jaw. The witches alone had been more than enough to take it on, it turned out, as “large” and “filled with power” were not the same as “skilled” and “intelligent.” They, and some of the magical creatures that were there feeding and did not want to share with something so enormous, threw everything they had at it. 

The thing - which Baba Yaga described as “an amorphous blob, but not the cute kind,” - had kept sucking in the attacks. 

They thought that meant it was impervious. 

What it really meant was it was trapped and hungry.

And tremendously stupid. The kind of stupid that was only possible for a sentient creature of vast power. The kind of stupid that was only possible for a creature that was the apex predator of countless ecosystems. The kind of stupid that was only possible for something that was the celestial equivalent of a mediocre white man. 

It kept eating and eating and they - because frankly no one was actually using much of their brains that day - kept attacking until the inevitable happened.

It exploded.

That Nora, having chosen to stand on the prow of one of the flotilla of wooden boats the witches had taken to the anomaly, spray blinding her as the ocean seethed and stormed beneath the deck, happened to be in the position to take the brunt of the undigested magic that came spraying out of the thing’s stomach like an arcane pinata was just dumb, bad luck.

Most of the other witches went home drenched in black gore, some with contusions from being hit by bits of unidentifiable organ. 

Nora came home with magic poisoning.

They got lucky. Most people would have exploded just like the not-cute amoeba thing did, but Baba Yaga had been close enough to catch her and exact a ritual that would allow her to leak the magic safely and in small doses. She was still sick as hell, and when anything caused her to lose a lot of it at any given time it did weird things to reality.

The more she lost the worse it would be. 

Dangerously bad. 

“So she needs to be calm.” the Hag had said to Loki when he returned. Nora had been upstairs in bed and he had gone to run up to her when the tiny Russian witch grabbed him by the horns, wrenching him back.

It was outrageous. He liked rough stuff as much as … very well, he liked it more than most, but his horns were Nora’s alone. 

“Uh uh, demon boy. She needs calm, she needs peace, she needs to stay inside because she’d a dangerous to every _ fucking  _ thing, and she needs no touching from any magical creature unless you want her to die.”

“That’s blunt,” he growled, rubbing his scalp. 

“And true. No touching magical creatures, no fuss, and no funny business for thirty days! No orgasms. Unless you like the idea of her internal organs turning into out-ternal organs and the magical blast turning the house into a teeny, tiny jar of angel-berry jelly.”

“Not to worry,” he had snarled. “I can assure you that mystical orgasm denial is well within my purview. Nora won’t even be coming to answer the  _ phone  _ for the next month.”

And so it was.

Demonically cock-blocking Nora’s pleasure would normally be antipathetic to Loki’s greatest desire, which was to have his treasured witch awash in pleasure at all times. He typically spent a great deal of his time workshopping new ways to make her come like an out of control freight train full of orgasms.

He had been enraged enough that she had hared off with the witches without letting him know, let alone asking him to join her, but that he could not care for her properly now left him incandescent. 

No helping her as she climbed in and out of bed or the tub on unsteady legs. No washing her hair when it dripped with sweat and magic. No aiding her changing clothing when her nightgown turned into an itchy wool jumpsuit. No cuddling her when she wept tears of pure magic because her body hurt - though he had cleaned up the flowers and rubies those tears turned into and put them aside to use for part of the wedding dress he was still designing. No holding her as she slept or even sleeping in the same bed as her.

So he made elaborate meals and read to her until she fell asleep, and supplied her with anything she might need and, for the sake of his own sanity which necessitated revenge, he verbally edged her with a vicious consistency that was breath-taking in its thoroughness and carefully monitored to ensure he never went so far as to endanger her.

A little edging, like a perfect dusting of salt on a loaf of perfectly baked bread, had always been a part of their erotic play. They both loved it.

This was not that.

It helped that she couldn’t use her powers during this time. 

He would be in grave trouble when she could again.

Loki looked forward to it. 

In the meantime his beloved, precious, irreplaceable treasure could suffer.

“And you as well,” he told his throbbing cock as he ladled the luscious soup into a Wedgewood bowl, put it on a tray with a spray of lilies of the valley in a little vase, along with a cup of ginger saffron tea laced with whiskey. “We weren’t there to protect her, after all.”

  
  



	2. Cruel To Be, Er… Cruel, Actually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki takes care of Nora, as well as not taking care of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edging-fest continues.

Nora loved Loki.

She loved him dearly and desperately and utterly and completely. Not just for his beauty, or his metamorphic, mercurial, perverse nature that helped keep her own wits sharp and her life interesting. Not just for his elegant grace and filthy behavior, his regal bearing and slutty attitude. 

He was her very best friend. There was nothing she could not share with him - not that he would allow her to do so, since he was a massive nag when he thought she was keeping anything from him. They had so much fun together even when they weren’t doing what everyone who knew them probably thought was all they did.

They took road trips to famous haunted and cursed sites to frighten ghosts who were being dicks and to free the ones who wanted to move on.

They hustled arrogant man-children at pool and made a point of knowing where every illegal card game in the city was. 

She got him to go bowling. Once.

He would, when he could, drag her to some terrible dance club, with shitty electronic music and people who thought it was an acceptable life choice to spend $100 on a t-shirt, so he could catch a light snack on the ambient sex that floated around places like that. Because Loki only fed directly from her now, Nora knew that from time to time a visit to one of those scenester warehouses offered him a little variety in his diet.

Not that he ever complained about the nature of his dinner. Loki was always gratifyingly ravenous. 

It wasn’t odd for the two of them to sit up until dawn talking and telling stories and trying to one-up each other. She didn’t even care that she always lost. 

He was her favorite everything. 

Which was why she hated him so very much now. 

Hugging a pillow to herself, too tired to kick off the polyester tuxedo pants, her head spinning, Nora wanted to sleep but when one of the surges of magic was too big, pouring out of her like it had now, the illness went from feeling like a low-grade fever with body aches to being more like a savage hangover. The kind that had you begging yourself for mercy and wanting to sleep on the bathroom floor because it was cool and you wouldn’t have to crawl to the toilet again.

And that when you vomited it was always a surprise !

The last time she had tossed up enough glitter for both all of the white girls at Lollapalooza AND for  _ every _ body at Market Days. That had been painful and messy enough, yet nowhere near as bad as sneezing the last of it out the whole rest of the day.

This wasn’t as bad as that had been, and she was improving. Baba Yaga when she had last checked on her had, with all of the bedside manner one would expect, nodded knowingly, “Alright, dummy, maybe another week and you might be able to leave the house. Still no magic, not for at least another month after that.”

“Oh, come on!”

“You want to accidentally turn your neighborhood into a pair of blue oxford tap shoes? Then you go right ahead. It's no skin off of my apple, baby witch.”

After seeing BY out that day, Loki had slunk back into the room to continue tormenting her. As he had today, and had done almost every day since Nora had gotten well enough that he was convinced she wasn’t going to die on him.

“Now wasn’t that good news!” There was a false sweetness and cheer to his voice as he draped himself across the foot of their bed, which he had not been able to sleep in for weeks. “Soon you’ll be able to get up and around and be good as new!” He rolled onto his back with a lazy smile and stretched, so his feet were on the floor, as were his palms. He was wearing his hair especially long these days, and scattered across the blankets as if reaching for her. The thin, tight black shirt he wore defined every lean muscle in his arms and chest and pulled up a bit so she could see the jut of his hip bone, the start of his belt of Adonis, and the narrow line of sooty, silky black hair beneath his flat navel.

In a better world, she would have been able to lick that navel, while stroking the splendidly erect penis that the tissue-thin excuse for trousers he wore did nothing to hide. She could see every ridge and vein. 

Nora nodded, pulling her knees up, looking at him like the viper he was. Knowing that he wasn’t going to bite her - no matter how much either of them might want him to - yet he would still find clever ways to get his venom burning in her blood. 

“Maybe we could have a little dinner party for a few friends when you are feeling better. But not here, we should go out. You’d like to go out, wouldn’t you?” 

Nodding warily, she agreed, “I am pretty sick of this place.”

“I know the feeling, treasure. Remember when I was trapped in these walls? Ah, how time has flown.” While he talked his left hand idly fondled one of his horns. Though it did nothing to change his thoughtful, conversational tone, his nipples were now sharp enough to kill. “Somewhere quiet, where there can be good conversation. A private dining room at the Four Seasons?” 

His sonorous baritone rumbled across her nerves endings, like sandpaper chased by velvet

Now his right hand ran over his mouth and chin as he thought, “No, too bright. Not intimate or cosy enough,” and then continued down his throat. For a moment he tightened his grip, and then delicately scratched down to the hollow with one pine green talon. “We need somewhere dark.”

He turned his head to face her. The poison green of his eyes was a just a thin circle around his irises where hellfire burned, like he barely saw her. His smile was passive. “After all, I will need to eat too. For whilst we chat with your friends, who will be so happy to know that you are well, drinking champagne and supping on who knows what delicacies, I plan on petting and finger fucking that pretty puss between your legs until you are so wet I could fill a wine glass with it and drink you. I bet it would taste of like naughty ambrosia I’d just  _ have _ to lick that flute entirely clean.”

All while looking at her that busy right hand kept going down, stopping to pinch one of those sharp nipples so his back arched just a little, and he still talked on in that calm tone.

“Or perhaps I’ll use one of my feathers on you. I know you like that. Little, soft strokes with the softer, longer barbs. You’ll have to have your legs so wide, of course, maybe one of them dangling over my lap so you can feel my cock _ burning _ against your thigh, wanting to quench itself inside of you as badly as you want it there. And you’d have to be quiet too.”

When his hand finally reached that very part of him the bastard had the gall to look mildly surprised. With a dreamy sigh, he covered it with those long fingers, frankly stroking himself through the cloth. “Where was I? Yes, I was stroking your labia with a feather. Very gently. Gently enough that you won’t make a fuss, but might be a bit … irritated. Agitated. I can just see you squirming, wanting to tell me to get on with it, but you can’t because we are out to dinner.

“What I can do, though is stroke a little harder.” 

He did that to himself as well.

“Lovely, tight light strokes, with a strong, perhaps even stern, hand. You will probably not be able to stop yourself from reaching down to spread yourself wider for me. And your adorable clit, how I love it, will be throbbing for me. At first, I’ll be a little cruel. It is my nature. No matter how much it needs me I will deny it and then when I finally give it the attentions it needs so very badly it will be too gentle. Too kindly. A caress when a spank is wanted.”

A spank was wanted alright. Nora wanted to spank right then and there. Herself and then Loki’s ass for being such a bastard. Not that all of the touching or sex toy-added masturbation in the world would get her off. 

Loki had put his ultimate cockblocking whammy on her genitalia until she was well enough to come safely, while doing absolutely nothing about how bad she needed it. 

There was no way she wouldn’t put it past him to have done it in a way that made her more easily aroused.

“Laying that dripping feather aside after getting my hand good and wet from it, whilst prattling on about who knows what with our guests, I would finally, when I saw a tear of frustration - just like the ones you have now - leak from the corner of your eye, place these two fingers,” he held up his left hand where his middle and pointer finger were close together, “against your grateful clit and rub.”

He demonstrated on the head of his cock.

“Oh, I’d just rub and rub. Lovely, tight circles, firm and relentless. And all of the while you would have to pretend nothing was happening. Now I believe you could keep from panting too much, unlike now, you might wish to sip some water. Or crying out as I rubbed you that way you like but not enough. That you were flushed, well, you just got over being sick, so that would make sense. But you would have to trust me to use my magic to keep everyone from smelling how delicious you are, from hearing how wet you were. Knowing that at any second I could just stop attending to your needy hole, which by this point I will have starting fucking in earnest whilst now using my thumb to keep that sweet rub going. Or that I could stop the illusion and let everyone have a voyeur’s treat.

“Because if I did that, then there would be no point to me not falling straight down to my knees to worship you with my mouth. Your hips would be pumping helplessly at that point, your legs would be over my shoulders, and I would start over from the beginning. Just light, sweet little strokes, now with my tongue.”

His voice slurred a bit at that point, and his own hips were circling as he played with himself, his eyes closed. The heat poured off of his body, and all Nora wanted was to see him come, even if she could not. 

“Oh Nora…” he moaned.

She moaned back.

His eyes snapped open, and he gave her an evil grin, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles, looking perfectly at ease. “Not that I would ever do anything like that. Sharing is for assholes. Now, what do you want for lunch? I was thinking pozole?”

Because tormenting her was not the only thing he did, even if it seemed to be the only thing he enjoyed. 

There was the cooking: endless soups and comfort meals and anything decadent she might possibly want. The demonic side of him loved that. He also did all of the cleaning up when she was ill, doing laundry, and supplying her with new pajamas and nightgowns. The angelic side of him loved that.

Pretty much every night she would have a sweating nightmare about that massive, otherworldly, thing exploding all over her, getting her a mouthful of ick and a magick-wracked body, and would wake up to find herself wearing an assortment of garments ranging from a Civil War-era Zouave uniform to a black tutu and with a yellow polo shirt. So she was always in need of new lounging clothes.

The changes weren’t always silly, or annoying.

Once she had been in a body bag. 

That had been pretty bad.

Terrifying actually. Nora’d had to get her own way out of it because the danger of Loki touching her was too great. He had been next to the bed trembling in fear and rage when she had finally figured out how to get the zipper down. 

The fury coming off of him when he’d disposed of it was almost as frightening as the bag itself.

Which was why she let him tease her. Leave her in a state of constant, unsatisfiable arousal.

He had been too badly frightened this time. Having almost lost her to Baba Yaga’s fuckery in the fall, after having almost lost her to Lucifer in the winter had left Loki, the confident, arrogant, fallen angel who put the devil in the may-care Loki a miserable, paranoid wreck. 

Drunk with her new powers and the freedom it gave her to finally do some real good in the world, Nora had spent the last few months jumping from one dangerous scenario to another and Loki, respecting her autonomy, had bitched and complained loudly but never used any of his own considerable gifts to stop her. 

When he had made noises that perhaps he could be helpful, she had pretended not to hear, needing to prove she could care for herself. That she had gotten too bold too quickly, biting off more than she could chew even in her new state had been one enormous wake-up call.

The misery and tears that Loki had tried to hide when she had unexpectedly regained consciousness early was another. He was finally not alone and that she was constantly threatening it, even for good reasons, was cruel. Adding that being magic-poisoned meant that he could not cosset and cuddle and bathe and snuggle her close while she healed was an insult to the injury. 

Loki adored contact, needed it in fact, so his suffering was nearly as bad as hers.

So she let him engage in social distancing edging as often as he liked, even to the point of absolutely hating him. The punishment seemed to fit the crime.

Finally drifting off to sleep, hoping when she woke up that the tux pants had turned into something less itchy, Nora pulled the pillow closer, wishing it was her demon lover.

Loki looked at Nora, sleeping so hard, pillow squeezed against her, hair sweaty and sticking up and sighed. Quietly setting down her lunch tray he sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully not touching her even though he longed to stroke that wild hair, slip into the place of that unworthy cushion, breathe her in, soak in her touch, comfort her sleep.

At moments such as this, he forgot how very angry with her he still was.

Then she rolled over, her pretty, bare breasts begging for his touch, her lips parted just a bit, and he remembered just how angry, and hungry he was.

Crossing his arms, Loki went to the window to sit and glare at her, waiting for her to wake. Whilst she ate he had a lovely story to tell her. 

About the properties of heat and cold, vibration, unrelenting darkness, and cock warming. 

He knew she’d  _ just l _ ove it.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Revenge is a Dish Best Served in the Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora is feeling much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of rafan4life who has been a wonderful reader and commenter, I give you a visit to Poundtown

And just as quickly as she had been poisoned she was well.

Though without the explosion.

On a very early morning Nora woke up, sneezed, and nothing came out other than the normal product of a nose - no glitter, no sound of nightingales, no pancake syrup, no black mist that floated near the ceiling for hours before dissipating with a sinister laugh - she felt a cautious sort of optimism.

Outside, false dawn had paled the sky. Carefully getting up, pleased to find the Material Issue t-shirt she had stolen from her mother’s belongings hadn’t turned into a jockey’s silks overnight. It was even dry, rather than soaked in sweat and magic, nor was she for the first time in weeks.

Her legs were steady beneath her, if a little achy from having been barely in use for so long. Crossing the room, Nora pushed open the window and leaned out, taking big lungfuls of spring-scented air. 

The backyard was green, and a few tulips and the flowering dogwood were a spot of color. When last she’d been outside the city was still fighting with winter. Apparently it had finally won.

She felt normal.

Leaning on the window frame, her face in a grimace because things could still go horribly wrong, Nora pushed up the screen and reached out, her fingers just barely moving. Brushing her powers as lightly as possible, she gestured towards a few lilies of the valley where they leaned against the bottom of the decrepit wooden fence near the garage.

There was a soft warmth rather than a surge of painful heat, though Nora still winced, wondering if she was an idiot who was about to cause a rain of squid to fall on Bridgeport, but then the lilies pulled up. She could feel it as if she were doing it with her own hand, even feeling that little squeak they made when it was time to be plucked. Then they were floating, twirling with the light breeze, dancing, to fall into her palm.

Holding her breath, Nora waited.

Nothing.

She did it again.

This time they rose more quickly, though still they waltzed along the eddies of the air, for witchcraft worked with nature rather than fighting it, using its power with gentle nudges and strong suggestions. The more persuasive and clever the witch, the more she could do with the least harm. 

Perhaps she’d forgotten that for a while.

The warm flowers quickly perfumed the air of her room, which needed it pretty badly. 

Then, from over the rooftops, she smelled something even more amazing. 

Loki woke up with the sun.

Or was woken up by the sun. 

The fucking sun.

Not that he needed much in the way of sleep. Indeed, when he was properly fed he did not require sleep at all, though he might choose to indulge, tripping through the wet dreams of other sleepers, offering advice or firmer guidance here and there. Though that avenue was cut off to him since he had pledged his troth to Nora. 

His cock was for her various holes alone now.

He was fucking starving.

That said, he should probably get up and start on the cinnamon rolls he was planning to make them for breakfast. He had a way of eating them that would leave her sitting in a puddle as certainly as anything he might say.

The room he had moved into used to be Nora’s working space before she’d needed to have the attic re-done after he’d punched a hole in her roof the winter before last. Sitting on the edge of the bed he sighed grandly, looking at his feet. Wiggling his toes, he gave himself a pedicure to match his pine colored mani and slid into the black cashmere smoking jacket that was draped over the leather chaise lounge under the window. He’d had to play a bit fast and loose with the laws of physics to fit it, along with an Emperor bed with a full velvet canopy AND his seven free-standing wardrobes into a room that, most of the time, was a paltry 7’ x 10’.

Even the sight of his long, elegant feet now with shining green nails did nothing to cure the funk he’d been in for weeks, growing stronger with each day. For the millennia of his existence, Loki had experienced every manner of suffering and pleasure, be they either exquisite or vile, but he had never known a dreary day. 

To have Nora so close and not be able to do even those little, affectionate things that he’d come to appreciate such as stroking her hair or her g-spot was turning his usual hedonic state decidedly anhedonic. Though they were together he needed - Daddy help him - the reassurance of her physical presence against him. For comfort, for joy, not just for dinner. 

He was not even angry with her any longer. The demon in him recognized when he had tormented any victim sufficiently.

Nevertheless, time to get ready to orally pleasure some baked goods. 

Teasing her was the only fun or feeding he had these days.

Before descending to the kitchen Loki, as he ever did, leaned in the door to what _ had _ been their bedchamber to look in on Nora, both to gaze upon his sleeping love and to be certain that her sleeping garments had not become a prison jumpsuit topped with a Victorian-era diving helmet. 

Nora was gone from her bed. 

Where she had lain for so long on sheets that had been mutated variously into every fabric from vicuña wool to interfacing and back to cotton worn down to separate fibers there were scant handfuls of  _ muguet _ , scenting the air with their sweetness. 

Drear of the mind turned to dread in the heart.

“NORA!” he called out, pushing his voice to echo through the minuscule confines of her terrible little house, thinking perhaps she had felt well enough to go downstairs alone.

There was no answer.

Falling to his knees whilst staring at nothing, he clutched the flowers to his breast. 

Loki told himself that it was impossible that Nora had been metamorphosed into a few meagre bouquets of poisonous forest flowers without his sensing the massive amount of surging magic such a thing would take. His wings slowly extended and then sagged, the fire of his horns and eyes guttered, his mouth turned downwards.

Just as he was about to curl into a ball of crumbled lilies and grief blanketed in feathers he heard the door open and close. There was the sound of a hip hitting the place just below the lock that was needed to jostle it into place in the swollen old wood of its frame, known only to those who live in the house, followed by Nora’s voice, strong and healthy.

He could smell her. The taint of poisoned magic was gone.

“Hey! Wake up! I have coffee and pain au chocolat!”

Snarling, Loki sat up. 

The flowers in his hands burst into flame and then turned to ash in seconds, whilst the tears that soaked his lashes turned to steam.

The feathers of his wings as well.

Fire wreathed his horns and his eyes turned to pure pits of flame with no iris or cornea.

The angel had left the building. Or, more likely, was hiding.

He was going to kill her.

With his cock.

Nora had just finished putting the croissants on a nice plate and transferring the coffee to the mugs since Loki was hung up on things like that when she felt him standing in the kitchen behind her. 

Smiling broadly, she turned, “I feel like mys - Oh, Holy Fuck…!”

Loki was in full-tilt demon mode and maybe a bit more. Dressed in only a black robe that hung open to show low slung leather pants whose suede straps were doing nothing to hold his bulge in check, he stopped in the door, one hand holding the top of the frame as he leaned in, his eyes burning at her, his mouth in a snarling smile. He had even replaced the emerald nipple ring that he hadn’t worn for some time. 

It glinted at her like a wink.

A month of verbal frottage followed up by the visual feast of him made her knees weak. Which she had always thought was a metaphor, but no. Everything she had from the waist down felt hot and soft. She went from thinking about coffee to needing to be fucked so quickly her cunt didn’t just ache, it hurt.

“Oh, good morning, treasure…” he said in a singsong, Hell’s baroque accent hanging thicker on his husky voice than she’d ever heard. “I see you’re feeling better.” Fiery eyes traced down her body.

Everything she had  _ above _ the waist was pretty much a mess, too.

Without meaning to Nora took a step back and then two towards him. “Um, yeah. I thought since you’ve been doing all of the work I’d get breakfast.” She gestured to the table in a placating way.

“So,” he slunk forward, slowly, his nails scraping along the wall, leaving long tears in the plaster, “rather than come and tell me that you were feeling  _ all better, _ ” he lowered his head but kept staring up at her with those unsettling eyes, “you left.”

“For breakfast. For both of us,” there was a bit of an undignified squeak to her voice that Nora would have normally cringed at. “I was trying to do something nice for you.”

“You want to do something nice for me?” Long, spidery fingers made quick work of his laces so his thick, gorgeous cock sprang upwards, laying on his lean stomach, brushing pre-cum onto his navel. 

Nora’s mouth watered more for it than it had for the croissants, no matter how good they usually were from the local bakery. Yet she wasn’t dumb enough not to be a little apprehensive. When the demon was ascendant in Loki, things could get intense, borderline dangerous, and at the moment he wasn’t merely ascendant, he was absolute. “I mean, of course. I always want to do something nice for you.”

He stopped, a hip jutted forward, rage thinning his eyes. “And how sweetly you show it. Abandoning me for coffee. For pastries. For battles that I could help you fight. For your near death!” 

His robe turned to ash, the pain au chocolat burned, the coffee boiled out of the cups, and he lunged for her. 

And then stopped, his body less than an inch from hers. His face close, so close. She could feel the heat was starting to make her own clothing smolder a bit, and his gaze scorched her lips. He inhaled, leaning to trace his nose along her neck, never quite making contact. When his hands hovered over her breasts her already tight nipples hurt. 

Nora reached out to grab the back of his neck, to force his mouth onto hers.

Loki jerked back, a wild look on his face. 

Then it hit her. “You’re afraid. You are still mad as hell at me, no pun intended, and you’re scared to touch me in case I’m not well enough.”

“I-” 

Now, sneering herself, Nora threw herself onto him, her mouth pushing up onto those thin lips. At first he seemed to be having a panic attack, but when she didn’t die a horrible death he clutched her to him, licking her open to him, eating the breath out of her.

Grasping her arms, Loki pushed her away while holding her up since her legs weren’t working right. 

For a moment his eyes were green - and had pupils and other normal things - his horns were not crowned in flames, and he looked as close to normal he could. “Nora, I swear by all of the devils in hell, for a creature who lacks an active deathwish your level of fearlessness is fucking terrifying. Have some pity on my heart. You are responsible for its function, so why do you try and stop it time and again?”

“I’m sorry. And I promise to not be so reckless in the future. At least when it comes to anything not including you. It’s unfair of me.”

He cocked his head, “So you are saying I am in the right?”

Rolling her eyes and nodding, Nora groaned. “I don’t believe it either, but yes.”

With that, he was a-fire again.

Pine green nails turned to talons, and before she could be apprehensive Nora’s jeans and sweater were in shreds, her bra in ribbons. For her panties, he reached between her legs, cutting them open and thrust two fingers deep into her. The juicy, ripe sound as he fucked her, pulling her back to his mouth so he could continue his devouring. 

Nora’s toes curled hard.

“Hump my hand, little witch. Grind your clit on my palm. Work yourself as hard as you can. I know you want to.” 

She did. Every bit of fantasy Loki had spun for her over the last month, every teasing touch to himself, and dirty fairytale was playing in a pornographic montage behind her closed eyes as she rode those busy fingers, past caring if she got cut. 

Everything in her was molten, as hot as Loki’s burning skin where her nipples rubbed. She took his nipple ring in one finger and twisted until he growled and sank his sharp teeth into her shoulder. The judder of her coming orgasm, her cunt pulsing around those fingers, she was so ready. She needed it. The anxiety of pleasure had her snarling his hair and pulling harder than she ever had. 

Noises, some of them not especially human, grunted out of her as she wore herself out while Loki kissed and bit her everywhere he could reach without having to stop fingering her. “Please, please…” she started to chant. To Loki, to herself, to the forces of the universe. 

Soon, her legs, weak from lack of use, were no longer able to hold her up, and with a frustrated sound, her cunt throbbing and her nerves wracked from being so close for so long. 

“Are you still…” her voice was broken stutter, “whammying my … my….” Nora couldn’t quite form any useful words after that as he did something with his fingers that turned her blood and brain into lava. The muscles in her legs were tight as if her entire body was poised for flight.

Clutching her to him, Loki whispered, “Oh, dear, I had forgotten … how bad of me. But as it has already been so long what is a little longer?”

The words meant nothing to her, but Nora was aware enough to feel herself being quickly lowered to the floor. The cool tile on her back roused her just a little, the contrast to Loki’s intense heat bracketing her, covering her, made her arch up, so her mouth met his, biting hard on his lower lip, as he fucked into her.

A month without, and all of the teasing, and the size of Loki’s so long, so thick, so perfectly curved and veined penis, made it hurt. At first. But he gave her no time to get used to it again. Rather, he tilted her up, flicking at her clit with one of those dark claws, then traced some form of sigil or rune over it so even when he stopped it continued to shudder and vibrate for as long as he was in her.

Now her hips bucked wildly. Loki’s hands pressed into the floor on either side of her head and even in her state Nora could swear there was a smell of hot plastic, but she didn’t care when he sucked her tongue until she nearly fainted. 

Her legs were thrown over his shoulders, “I’m going to fuck you so hard, treasure…. So hard that every time you thoughtlessly intend to risk your life again - for I know you will - you will feel me pounding into you and take stock.”

Though he sounded calm and could still speak complete sentences, Nora knew Loki was nearly as bad off as she was. Sweat soaked his hair, turning to steam, and the elegant, agile lover was too overcome to do anything but pound her.

Reaching up, she grasped his horns, making him hiss, gritting his teeth, losing the last of his composure. The fire wreathed her wrists, snaking down her arms, coiling around both of their bodies as Loki’s hips hammered. 

Grunting, pulling, trying to find purchase, trying to fuck him back as hard as he fucked her, Nora felt the tense and anxious and painful and desperate and so close need to come twist tighter and harder in her as her thighs bruised and Loki grew deeper and deeper with each fast, each harder, each more glorious thrust. The transcendent need on his tormented face, to punish her and himself with pleasure, was beautiful.

She had never been more aware of how inhuman he was.

She had never been more aware of how lucky they were. 

She had never needed to come so badly and she was going to rip those horns right off of his head and peg him with them both if she didn’t soon.

The flames where his eyes should be found hers, “Too much thinking,” his voice straight from the pit now.

The vibration against her clit grew more intense and Nora fell back, trying to grab the ground for something to hold her in place while being filled so hard, his cock altering so it could somehow thud against every secret, needy spot she had at once as his hips mindlessly pounded the backs of her thighs.

Close. 

So close. 

Loki blew a thin line of hellfire down her body and slid a hand between the small of her back and the floor, “Come for me, treasure, little witch. Let me see  _ you _ ….”

The pulse of pleasure started in her head rather than her cunt, and then her fingertips, and her toes, on her skin and pulled in and in overwhelming, like each of them was an orgasm that moved towards her core with now pulsed and squeezed and grabbed and milked Loki’s perfect cock. Wave after wave hit her, making the world over as bliss.

“Nora…” Loki breathed, with one last, bone-cracking thrust so his body was a rictus, all of it hard and stiff, almost rearing back from her so they could stare at each other when his own orgasm flooded out of him, racking his body, his addictive, stimulating sperm sending her over the edge again. 

For an endless time, they floated down together.

“Nora…” he said again, pulling out so he could lay on the ground and lift her to lay half on him, off of the cold floor, his eyes green again, his horns cooling. “That was…” he slurred, unable to finish.

Patting him weakly on the shoulder, Nora let her head rest on his chest. “If you can’t talk, you know I can’t,” was what she wanted to say, but it came out loose-lipped gibberish.

“Make breakfast, clothes for you. Soon,” he finally managed. “Off the floor,” he added.

She thought she nodded.

Then, as if nothing had happened and he was as fresh as a daisy again, “You must know that we will be sleeping with my penis inside of you for … oh…  _ months _ to come?”

Nora tried to say, “Where else would it be?” but probably said, “wheeerr would else?” 

He seemed to understand, and then rolled again, satin and silk cushions now getting ruined on the kitchen floor, so he could blanket them both with his wings and snuggle Nora to him, his nose nuzzling her temple, with a deep sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his feet.

After a few moments, her brain back on line and wanting coffee and sugar, she whispered, “Can we get up now?”

“No.”

“Soon?’

“Probably not.”

  
  



End file.
